


give a little (get a lot)

by cursedwurm



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as domestic as these two get), Bad Flirting, Domestic, Established Relationship, Exes, Getting Back Together, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24964102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursedwurm/pseuds/cursedwurm
Summary: “Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” Elias asks, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as his ex-husband comes to stand next to him. Peter gives him a look that’s so neutral, so emotionless that it nearly makes him feel bad - nearly.“You’ve been hitting nerves since the moment I met you,” he tells him. Their gazes meet and Elias sees an all too familiar flicker of recognition in his eyes, one that lets him know exactly what’s about to happen next.--For the first time in months, Elias is not alone in his apartment.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124





	give a little (get a lot)

**Author's Note:**

> i was joking with a friend about elias as electra heart bc i am one of Those Gays. i started writing this to see how many marina references i could shove into one fic. ur welcome  
> (also I'm gonna update the jonahbas fic in the next week or so i swear i haven't forgotten it)
> 
> please leave comments/kudos if you enjoy!! and feel free to say hi to me on [tumblr](https://snapdraqons.tumblr.com/)

It’s seventeen minutes to eight on a Thursday evening and for the first time in months, Elias is not alone in his apartment. 

He takes out a cigarette (god knows he needs one) and glares up at Peter as he hangs his coat and hat on the stand in the hallway, apparently unbothered (or at least pretending to be unbothered) by the fact that he’s shown up completely out of the blue. It's been a good six months since they'd last spoken, even longer since they'd last been in the same room, and there's still another three to go before the Tundra is next due to be docked in Portsmouth. Elias hasn't asked Peter to come home or spend some time with him, nor has he required his assistance at work (with the exception of Martin being trapped in his apartment by Jane Prentiss, everything has been going to plan). In short, there is absolutely no reason for Peter to be here - let alone with a suitcase that looks far too full to just be an overnight bag.

"This is a surprise," he says, "Didn't think you'd be back until November."

"There was a change of plan," Peter replies simply, "Figured I could crash here while I wait for the next lot of cargo to come through."

Frowning, Elias brings his lighter up to the cigarette in his mouth. He flicks at it with his thumb, only for it to cough up a pathetic spark before going out completely. He sighs through his nose, letting Peter approach him with his own lighter - a cheap plastic one, probably bought at a petrol station checkout for the sole purpose of replacing Elias’. He watches as his ex-husband flicks the striker down and a small yellow flame ignites, catching on the edge of his cigarette and lighting it. The end of the paper glows orange as he takes a long - and, in his opinion, much-needed - drag from it.

“That’s a nasty habit,” Peter unhelpfully observes, to which Elias rolls his eyes, smoke billowing from his lips as he lets out a sigh.

“If worse comes to the worst I can always get a new body,” he retorts, pauses, then - “I take it you want my help unpacking, Peter?”

As it turns out, Peter does want his help unpacking. Elias narrows his eyes but helps him anyway, holding his cigarette between his teeth as he reorganises his drawers and shoves jumpers far too thick for this time of year next to crisp white shirts and expensive silk ties. Neither of them speaks as they unpack, the almost-painful tension in the air going unmentioned just as it always does. Judging by how many clothes Peter has brought, he’s probably planning on staying for at least a few weeks - or rather, he’s planning on keeping his belongings in Elias’ apartment while he sits in The Lonely to avoid human contact for a few weeks. Elias isn’t exactly thrilled about it, but he isn’t  _ un _ happy either. Periods of time spent with his ex-husband come few and far between, and he often finds himself looking forward to their next meeting - to keep a (physical) eye on him if nothing else.

He won’t, of course, admit out loud that he misses Peter, that he gets…  _ lonely  _ without him. That would feel too much like letting him win.

Their relationship has always been one of unspoken tension and power struggles, the two of them playing an eternal game of tug of war as they both feed their patrons through the other. Elias knows that Peter takes advantage of how much he secretly misses him when he leaves for months on end. He knows that the uncertainty of whether or not he’ll wake up to an empty bed fills him with something just close enough to dread that The Forsaken can feed off of it. Naturally, Elias Watches him whenever he can, often through the eyes of his crew. When they'd been married he'd watched through the small emerald eye shape encrusted into his wedding band, and now that they aren't he resorts to the small eye he'd scratched into the metal frame of Peter's bed on the Tundra. He Knows his ex-husband hates the feeling of being Watched, hates knowing the only escape he'll get from the Ceaseless Watcher is in the realm of his patron. It's not quite fear, more like an ever-present, pervasive discomfort and Peter wants nothing more than to escape it. Still, it feeds The Beholding - that's why Elias does it, after all.

Their relationship has always been like that. It's a sick sort of symbiosis that borders on sadomasochism, each of them giving and taking a little more than before in attempts to serve their masters. When all is said and done, there is no real reason for it; they could both easily feed their respective patrons with the genuine, unadulterated fear of total strangers. Elias has a fair idea of why they do it, why they constantly come back to each-other despite it making more sense for them not to. He's not ready to explore it, though. The very idea of the true reason behind their apparent codependency makes him feel far too…  _ human _ .

Peter has been home nearly an hour by the time they have a proper conversation. He's stood in Elias' kitchen, watching in silence as he pours them each a glass of red wine. The tension between them is palpable, hanging thick and heavy in the air between them as he hands Peter his drink and silently takes a sip of his own. There's a lot he wants to say, a lot that hasn't been brought up in months, in years, or just hasn't been brought up at all. It takes a few minutes for Elias to figure out how to word what he wants to say, his voice soft but firm as he speaks.

"What do you want from me?" he asks. It comes out much harsher than he'd intended but if Peter is bothered by it he doesn't show it.

"Do I have to want something from you, Elias?" he says in response, sipping his wine with a furrowed brow.

Elias clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in annoyance. "It isn't like you'd come here just to  _ see me _ ," he replies curtly, "If you didn't need something you would have buggered off to The Lonely by now." He watches Peter as he takes a sip of his wine, keeping his expression as neutral as possible as his ex-husband lets out a laugh that’s not quite hollow enough to be fake.

“Maybe I’m just here to annoy you,” he jokes. 

“We both know that isn’t true.” Elias puts his drink down on the spotless stone counter of his kitchen with a sigh, reaching for the bottle to top up his half-empty glass. The sound of the wine hitting the liquid already in the glass fills the silence and for a brief second, neither of them break eye contact, the tension between them as heavy and intense as always. Then Elias speaks again, swirling the wine in his glass around before asking, “ _ Why are you here, Peter? _ ”

It’s an attempt to compel him as much as it is a question, another layer to the struggle for power between them, and Peter visibly tenses up at his words. His grip on his wine glass tightens and his eyes narrow in a way that Elias is ashamed to admit that he finds attractive. “Elias,  _ don’t, _ ” he replies firmly, all kindness in his voice replaced with a harsh vexation that Elias so rarely gets to see, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“And I hate it when you show up unannounced,” Elias says, so casually that even  _ he’s  _ annoyed by it, “So I suppose we’re even,  _ dear _ .” The pet name is laced with mockery, though it isn’t quite unfriendly enough to actually mean anything; it’s a playful jab at best and a flirtation at worst. He doesn’t particularly care which way it’s interpreted (though he certainly wouldn’t mind the latter).

There’s silence for a moment as Peter rolls his eyes, his shoulders visibly relaxing under his jumper. He sips his wine, slowly making his way to the other side of the kitchen counter. “As if you’ve ever been happy with even,” he says, not quite maliciously, “You’ve been keeping your Eyes on me for the last eight months. You and I are exactly the same, deep down. So stop acting like you’re above me.”

“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?” Elias asks, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as his ex-husband comes to stand next to him. Peter gives him a look that’s so neutral, so emotionless that it nearly makes him feel bad -  _ nearly _ .

“You’ve been hitting nerves since the moment I met you,” he tells him. Their gazes meet and Elias sees an all too familiar flicker of recognition in his eyes, one that lets him know exactly what’s about to happen next.

This happens too often to just be a coincidence. There’s a pattern to it, to their strange back-and-forth games that neither of them can truly win. No matter how many times they break up, how many months they spend apart, how many times they insist that there’s nothing between them, it keeps coming back like weeds - like an unwanted pest sullying an otherwise-perfect (perhaps _too_ perfect) garden. They’ve both tried to cover it up, tried to cut it back at the roots, but at this point there’s no point in even denying it. So when Peter kisses Elias (or perhaps Elias kisses him), he lets the feeling blossom inside his chest and climb over him like ivy, melting into his ex-husband’s embrace like he has done so many times before.

Peter’s lips are chapped and he tastes distinctly of sea-salt and something else that Elias can’t quite place; it reminds him of a distant memory, cold and lonely like a thick winter’s fog that obscures just enough to make Elias’ skin crawl. He kisses gently and shyly, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing, and Elias takes the opportunity to take the lead, sliding his arms around his shoulders and moving his lips slowly against his. The kiss itself is gentle and slow - so slow that it's almost hesitant. They're both testing the waters, Elias thinks, waiting for the other to do something,  _ anything _ , even if it's breaking the kiss pulling away. Of course neither of them do, and their lips continue to slot together and tentatively slide apart, the gentle sounds of their kiss the only noise in the otherwise-silent apartment.

Peter's hands are resting on his waist now, pulling him closer as Elias swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, paying no mind to the way his beard scratches his face as he tilts his head to one side and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. He leans back against the kitchen counter, tangling his fingers in his ex-husband's hair as his tongue slips into his mouth, hot and wet as it slides against his own. Peter's more relaxed now, his kisses slow and languid as he regains control, pushing his body closer to Elias' so that their chests are pressed together, rising and falling in time as their lips move fervently in sync with each-other's.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Elias wants to pull away; all the rational thoughts in his head are telling him to push Peter off of him and not allow him to take the lead in the little game they play. He won't listen to those thoughts, though. He never does and he probably never will. No matter how much he pretends to hate Peter, no matter how much he ignores him to feel like he's in control, he's never going to be able to leave him alone for long. It's a horrible feeling, imperfect and pathetically human, but he just can't stop himself. Peter will always be second to his patron, and Elias will always be second to Peter's; they'll never play anything more than the supporting role in each-other's lives. And yet-

And yet Elias, unfortunately, loves him.

He's not sure how long it's been when the kiss is broken, but he does know that it's Peter who pulls away, letting out a chuckle as Elias moves forward with him, chasing the kiss momentarily before composing himself and opening his eyes.

"I was wondering when I was going to get my 'welcome home' kiss," he says, and Elias rolls his eyes and frowns, as if he hadn't been making out with him mere seconds before.

"Someone's chatty tonight," he snaps in reply, "I much prefer it when you're  _ not _ making terrible attempts to flirt with me."  There's silence for a few moments, and the two of them meet each-other's gaze. Peter's cold grey eyes look alive for once, something Elias only gets to see when he's drunk, horny or in an exceptionally good mood; considering he's barely finished his first glass of wine and had actively broken their kiss (though he'd certainly had no qualms about it escalating) he can only assume it's the latter of the three. Then, the silence is broken as Elias lets out a sigh, picking up his nearly-full glass of wine and downing it far too quickly. "I was going to start making dinner," he says, "Though I hadn't exactly planned to be cooking for two."

"I'll pay if you order in," Peter tells him, which is the closest he'll ever get to taking Elias out for dinner. 

"Fine," he shrugs, "But I'm choosing this time. You always pick the stuff I don't like."

No more than an hour later they're sat at the dinner table, eating Chinese food from plastic tubs (Peter had tried to get Elias to use plates, but gave up when told that he'd be doing the washing up). There's a comfortable silence between them, though how much of that is down to the bottle of wine they've drunk half of between them Elias isn't sure. Still, his ex-husband seems to be in a decent enough mood - and for the first time in months his ring finger feels incredibly light. When the silence is broken it's Elias who talks, watching as Peter stabs a piece of chicken with his fork, having given up with the chopsticks ages ago. "Your hands look awfully dry," he comments, taking a sip of his glass of wine, "You should invest in a proper hand cream - or better soap."

Peter clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Salt dries out your skin," he answers simply, "Unlike you, I don't just sit on my arse all day-"

" _ Peter _ ."

"What? It's true."

"I do much more than just sit on my arse,  _ thank you very much _ ," Elias picks up a piece of carrot between his chopsticks and points it accusingly at his ex-husband across the table. "You know, I much preferred you when your mouth was occupied," he says, "At least then you were quiet."

Peter laughs at this, a deep, hearty laugh that comes from his stomach as he reaches for the bottle of wine, topping up his nearly-empty glass. "How many times have you used that line on me, Elias?" he asks, and Elias shrugs.

"As many times as you've fallen for it, dear," he replies, and this time he allows the slightest hint of sincerity to bleed into his words, the pet name sounding almost sweet, rather than carrying its usual mocking sting.

It's almost scary how easily they fall back into their usual chatter, their back-and-forth banter laced with insults that are just casual enough to come off as flirtatious. It's the start of another honeymoon period, another few months of something too genuine to be fake but far too sickeningly sweet to last. They'll kiss each-other goodbye when Elias leaves for work, have dinner when he gets back and fall asleep tangled in each-other's arms at night. Elias has always found it strange how naturally it all comes to him, how completely unbothered he is by the crude imitation of domesticity the two of them act out. He's bored of it, of everything they do, but he can't stop himself from coming back to Peter every time he's home.

They wash up from dinner (not that there's much washing up to do) and Elias pours himself a glass of water so he won't have a headache the next morning. He presses a kiss to Peter's cheek as he puts their wine glasses away, his beard tickling his face as he does. He won't say he's missed this, but his actions speak for themselves, and Peter takes his hand in his own, squeezing it tightly between his calloused fingers.

"You're being very  _ sweet _ tonight," Elias comments, just a hint of suspicion mixed into his words, "I thought you didn't like intimacy?"

"I don't."

"Then why are you-" he starts, but Peter cuts him off, his free hand wrapping around his waist and resting on the small of his back.

"Do you want the truth?" He presses his lips to Elias' jaw, pressing soft kisses to his skin that slowly become rougher as he trails down his neck. Elias just nods, inhaling sharply as he leans back against the kitchen counter and lets his ex-husband bite down on the junction between his neck and his shoulder. "I want to hate this," he mutters softly, "This game we play. It's pointless."

"But…?"

"But I enjoy it, Elias, and I know you do too-" He pauses as he sucks a mark into his skin, and Elias can only pray it won't be visible above his collar the next morning. " - and as long as you keep playing, so will I."

For a moment, Elias bites his lip in thought, tangling his fingers in Peter's hair as he comes up with a response. This is the closest either of them have ever gotten to any sort of confession, and it feels strange - though certainly not unpleasant. It helps, of course, that Peter is sucking bruises into his neck, making his breathing hitch as he tilts his head to the side to allow him better access. By the time he finally speaks his face is hot and he's pulling his ex-husband's body flush against his own. "So this is a game to you?" he breathes, his voice not much more than a whisper in the quiet of his apartment. Peter chuckles, and he feels the vibrations of his laugh against his neck.

"And it's not to you?" he asks, pulling away to look him in the eye.

He doesn't give him a chance to reply before he's leaning back in to kiss him again - an action that Elias blocks, pressing his index finger against his lips and gently pushing him back. "I may be in a good mood tonight," he says, "But I'm not kissing you when your breath smells of takeaway and the rest of you... just smells."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "Back to insulting me?"

"I'm being serious, Peter. When was the last time you had a proper shower? And no, I don't count the pathetic excuse of an en suite in your cabin."

Rolling his eyes, Peter pulls away. "Alright, Elias, you've made your point." He sighs, though there's no true malice in his actions.

"Good," Elias grins, unable to help but feel satisfied, "You can go in after me." He doesn't give Peter time to reply, pulling away from him and making his way out of the kitchen. He doesn't need to look at his ex-husband to know he's frowning, and pride swells inside him as he knows he's won this round.

He doesn't know if he'll win the next, but he's more than happy to keep doing his part in their performance of love. Neither of them will ever play the lead role in the other's life, that much has always been clear.

Elias can only wish he cared.

**Author's Note:**

> *elias voice* primadonna girl,,,,,,, yh


End file.
